Grapes Galore at Champerret

One of about 15 aisles at the salon at
the Espace Champerret.

Independent Producers Show Their
Stuff
and Talk to Customers

Paris:- Wednesday, 26. November 1997:- The Porte
de Champerret is like, close, but no cigar. It is just up
from the Palais de Congrés at the Porte Maillot -
'Porte Mayo' to sandwich fans - in the west 17th
arrondissement, but you normally won't go there.

If you are at the Porte Maillot, you can walk to
Champerret before the PC bus will come to take you there -
otherwise, it is a long way around by métro. I did
stuff for a traffic safety magazine there, so I've tried it
every way possible.

Once at Champerret, for whatever reason, you might have
to go to Levallois, on the other side of the
Périphérique, for whatever reason. If you do,
you can cut a bit to the right, starting at the tiny Jardin
de l'Amérique Latine, skip over to the Jardin
A. Balagny and take the path which goes by the Espace
Champerret.

Let's say, instead of wanting to go to Levallois, you
want to go the 19th Salon National des Vins des Caves
Particulières, then you stop at the Espace
Champerret and forget Levallois entirely.

Behind the
stands, there is lots of spare supply for the browsers.

That is exactly what I'm doing today. I have never been
to this salon. I never went 'in the good old days'
because... the name put me off. I mean, do you happen to
have a 'Cave Particulière?'

Some people with châteaux or other grand palaces
may have one, but you, me, all the little people, we have a
dark hole in the cellar full of broken kid's toys and
busted appliances, or if things are really tough, a fifth
of a broom closet; heated to 19 or 20 degrees. The rule
here is; you can't keep it so you'd better drink it, and
the sooner the better.

Well, I was wrong. I've been missing a really good thing
for 18 years.

There is a tent on what should be the Jardin A. Balagny
and there is sort of a fence at the crosswalk, and people
going to the salon are getting tangled up with people
coming from it because these are all either carrying
six-packs of wine or pulling 'granny-shoppers' - the
two-wheeled carts shoppers use to haul heavy stuff in.

Other people are also trying to park here and load their
trunks with these six-packs, and it is all so complicated
I'm going to skip the description of it. Let's say, it is a
mini bit of chaos, in the crosswalk.

People coming from the salon look a bit crazed and have
to be dodged while going past the tent, to the Espace
Champerret. This turns out to be a confusion of brick
stairways and locked doors and escalators. After several
false tries, as I seem to be on the right path, a lady is
just started up some stairs and she tumbles with a loud
clink, and all heads swivel to see this - to see if her
package leaks.

The 'down' escalators are the key to the entry. Many
people are coming up and all are carrying bulky packages.
The security mojo directs me to the actual entrance and
here a trim hostess gives me the essential brochures and my
free wine-testing glass.

Yes! Not only has an old 'supplier' sent me a free
ticket to get in, I get a free glass as a bonus - an
officially-sanctioned wine tasting glass. I put it in my
bag.

The smell is... just inside the door there is this
smell; powerful, overwhelming, alcoholic, no, like a sort
of wine-damp, rich, fruity, moist, humid. Thick. Like there
is a low cloud and it is going to rain wine at any
minute.

The interior space is low and very, very wide. There
are
thousands of people; and there are nearly a thousand stands
manned by individual wine producers. It looks like a
extra-large supermarket without shelves; just these stands,
arranged in aisles, with cross-aisles, and inside the
rectangles of stands, are huge mountains of wine
cartons.

Confit de Canard is some of what goes
together with the Château Peybrun.

This to too much. I follow the co-ordinates on my free
entry ticket to the Château Peybrun stand, which
turns out to be right in front of the entry. Catherine de
Loze tells me that stands are assigned by pulling numbers
out of a hat, and this is the number she got this year.

Since all the stands are similar, I can tell you about
this one and it will apply to all. The most important
aspect is that each stand is manned by the producer, or
spouse. There are no wine-trade dealers at this salon. You
deal with the people who make the wine with their own
hands, on their own land.

This is what I have with this Château Peybrun:
Madame de Loze took over the family holding in 1985,
enlarged it, and replanted it. The property has been in her
family since 1560 and she carries on a long, very long,
tradition. Grapevines were originally planted in this
region at the time of Julius Caesar.

The specialty of the Château Peybrun is high
quality 'vin liquoreaux,' the type of wine you would drink
before dinner with foie gras or nuts such as almonds, or
after dinner with melons or cheeses such as Roquefort. It
is rich.

This is an A.O.C. wine from the limited district of
Cadillac and the name can be associated with the Chevalier
de Lamothe-Cadillac, who was sent to Louisiana as governor.
This was when Louisiana reached up to Michigan, and there
is a Cadillac there too - not to mention the
automobile.

Cadillac lies on the right bank of the Garonne, opposite
to where the larger river is joined by the Ciron. Its water
is cold and on reaching the warmer Garonne, a morning fog
is produced which coats the grapes with moisture, which
later
in the day dries, firming the grape. All of Cadillac lies
within a diametre of five kilometres and has its own unique
microclimate.

This is Catherine de Loze's stand;
exactly like all the others at the salon.

Partly because of the steep slopes, the grapes are
hand-picked. The other reason for this is because each
grape is selected only when it is in a state of being
'royally rotten.' The harvest follows in successive waves
as the grapes reach this state - and in this year's case,
it was seven times; starting in September and the last
time, on 31. October.

The wine sits in barrels for two years before being
bottled. It is sold mainly by correspondence, but also can
be found at a few selected wine shops and some
restaurants.

Madame de Loze's stand itself is the ordinary salon
industrial-grade affair, and is decorated by one pot of
yellow flowers. In front of the stand there is a ten-litre
bucket on the industrial-grade floor.

The idea is, you front up with your free glass; you are
offered a taste and you swill it around the glass a bit,
stick your nose in it, take a sip and roll it around the
inside of your mouth until you 'get it,' and then you spit
it out into the handy bucket. Some people skip the last
part.

As there are over nine hundred stands at the salon and
most stands are manned by a couple of people, and at each
stand there are from one to four people; talking, tasting,
spitting, and buying! - there is a lot of activity, and lot
of smells and a very heady atmosphere.

Since the stands are drawn by lot, there is no order by
wine district or region. You either have to follow the
guide, which will force you to criss-cross the salon to
visit all the stands of one region, or you must have a
vine-map in your head and be able to read a lot of signs
quickly. The print on the signs is large.

Scattered around the edges of this activity are a few
stands selling rough mini-baguette sandwiches and tinned or
bottled foie gras, so if one is not 'spitting' too much it
is possible to be fortified.

Like many aspects surrounding wine, there is an excess
to this salon. It is simply too much, or the space it is in
is too small. On the weekend it will be pure hell, because
a free drink is a free drink and a free drink is rare in
Paris.

Darkness is outside when I leave. People with hand-carts
piled up with six-pack cases are at the bottom of the
escalator, wondering how to get past the steel bars, in
place to prevent the passage of the hand-carts, heavy with
bottles.

I wonder about this. Are they supposed to drink it all
on the spot? Maybe they were supposed to have left their
car in the underground garage - but what if they live
within walking distance, either in Levallois or around the
Porte de Champerret?

I follow a steady stream, carrying their six-packs,
through the little parks. The Porte de Champerret looks
better at night, with its bars and cafés and all
their neons.